


Our Hero Jaime

by moor



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Comedy, Crack, Crime, Drama, F/M, Mentions of sex work, Modern AU, Romance, dead dove don't eat, jonsa, mature content, mentions of human trafficking, mocking white knighting, trust fund babies, white knighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: A Modern Jonsa AU where Danni is a trust fund baby, Jon is a crime boss with very nice forearms and a thing for motorcycles, Sansa is a Ph.D. candidate student just trying to make rent when her roommate skipped town, and everyone but Jaime knows Jaime is drunk out of his gourd. Brienne is tired but growing fond of his attempts to trick the bar stations into serving him. Maybe she'll help him, maybe she'll mock him. It's all in bad faith at Danni's charity auction fundraiser gone wrong. OOC.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 62
Kudos: 59





	1. The Setup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [woodswit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodswit/gifts).



> Happy birthday woodswit!!  
> Remember that idea we joked about a few months/years ago?... 
> 
> For everyone else: Please understand that this is deliberately out of character for comedic purposes. I have seen exactly 1.5 episodes of GoT, and all characterizations are based upon a 0.5-second search of what I'm assuming was a valid GoT wiki. Also, I wrote this last night and this morning. You've been warned.

Arriving back from her afternoon lecture, Sansa stopped dead at the doorway into her apartment.

The couch had been stripped of its cover. Her books had been knocked all over the floor, the dishes were a mess on the counter and cutlery was scattered across the floor. Her plants had been knocked over by the window, and dirt was sprayed across the white carpet. Her heart skipped as she stepped further into the entrance, taking in the disorder that spread through each corner, each room that she could see.

It was only as she came to stand in the middle of the storm that she noticed that none of her roommate’s possessions had been damaged—

—because none of them were there.

Dread settled in Sansa’s stomach as she looked quickly through the rest of the apartment. The spare bedroom was indeed ‘empty’ of possessions, but garbage littered the stained carpet, and there was a pile of rotten food in one carpet that had her gagging, quickly turning away to heave in the bathroom.

When she finally, on shaking legs, made her way to the disaster left in the kitchen, Sansa found the note taped to the wall.   
Who did that, she thought, dissociating. Who used tape on walls? They had a corkboard-whiteboard right there specifically for sharing notes…

GOOD LUCK FINDING A NEW ROOMMATE. SUCKS 2 B U, BITCH.

Sansa’s hands shook. She looked around the apartment again, devastated. Her roommate had skipped out on her. Probably because Sansa had asked her to stop bringing home random guys she met at clubs every weekend, and to stop doing drugs on the balcony, and to please stop going into her room and just stop taking her things without asking…

Her head in her hands, Sansa forced herself to take long, deep breaths and let them out slowly, as panic frayed her nerves. 

“This is a blessing,” she told herself aloud, her voice weak. “This is a blessing. No more mystery men in the morning. No more theft. No more late rent…”

In the middle of pushing her long red hair out of her face, Sansa paused.

Rent.

She looked around for the calendar and felt sick all over again.

It was Thursday, and rent was due on Monday, the beginning of the next month.

She was screwed.

* * *

After spending most of the night cleaning, tidying and repairing everything in her apartment, a red-eyed Sansa scrutinized the screen of her phone as she collected her groceries the next morning. She had to find a job that weekend that would make at least $500 to cover the last of her ex-roommate’s share of the rent. Sansa had some savings, and while she didn’t want to spend so much of it at once, she would do it if she had to. But it would leave her with very little buffer to fall back on, if anything else went wrong.

But what could she do to earn $500 in a weekend that was legal?

Her jaw tight, she scanned the personal ads, job ads, pet ads (how many dogs could she walk in 48 to 60 hours?), and finally, with a tight throat, the… special interest employment ads. It was grim. 

Dammit. Fine. She would just… see how much she could sell her panties and pictures of her feet for online. Nothing identifiable. She could do that, she thought, trying not to be nauseous as she hunched over her cart. It was much lighter than her usual shopping trip.

She’d never realized before that there was non-brand name milk. It was a horrifying relief to save $2.50 on milk. And she was about to become a huge fan of off-label “Breakf’st Snack” instead of actual cereal. The box was a bit bland and admittedly stained from something sticky, but that was just the outside, and the oversized warning and allergy label was just for show, to ward off the quitters. It was the best value, and that’s what she was looking for. Value. Not nutritional content or nuclear safety hazards. 

Sansa refused to look at the ingredient list, knowing she couldn’t afford any more trauma before noon. She had to ration it out, like a responsible, mentally seizing adult.

How many pairs of panties could she auction at once before they lowered the value and price point, she wondered, pulling up ePorn and creating a seller’s account.

“Sansa? Sansa Stark?”

Fumbling with her phone, Sansa straightened, looking around. She knew that cheery, sadistic voice, who was it?

“Sansa? I thought it was you!” exclaimed a beautiful blond, throwing her arms around Sansa. “How are you!!!! Look at you, your hair is gorgeous! I’m so jealous,” continued the bubbly woman. 

“Danni?” asked Sansa, eyes wide and automatically, awkwardly lifting her arms to pat Daenerys (Danni) Targaryen on the back. “I thought you were still in… Europe? Ukraine, was it?”

“Yes! Odessa! I was, but then I had to do a thing in Zagreb, then Sarajevo, and then it was back to Skopje, and there was this whole thing,” said Danni, making a production of rolling her head back at how horrible it had been to jet-set around eastern Europe on her trust fund. She smiled brilliantly at Sansa. “But now I’m back! I’m so happy I ran into you! Let’s get coffee!” 

She squeezed Sansa’s arms and began pulling her out of the grocery lineup.

Remembering exactly how little Danni understood about Normal Life for Non-Trust-Funders, Sansa smiled wanly and tugged back, just a little, just enough to keep her place in line. Her social anxiety spiked, but she reminded herself that she had to be firm about her boundaries. That’s what her therapists always told her. Boundaries were essential to success.

“I’d love to,” lied Sansa, “But I need to get my groceries. Is your number still the same? I can call you and we can get together next week?” 

Or next never, whatever. She probably couldn’t afford the coffee filter paper that Danni expected her coffee grounds to be sifted through, even if it was used.

Why had she been so stubborn and insisted she could make it through grad school without money from the family? Sansa wanted to hit her head against the handlebar of her grocery cart. Her mother had told her she was an idiot, and that all she had to do was call. But Sansa refused. Because she was a big girl, and big girls could budget and do perfectly well on their own with their own resources, as long as they planned effectively and for god’s sake, WHY has she been so pig-headed and refused her mother’s offer of a ‘living allowance’?

_ Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. _

“—are you buying unlabelled milk?” asked Danni in a strained voice.

“Yeah, I hear it has less calories,” lied Sansa. “And it’s just as good as regular milk.” 

Hopefully.

To be honest, she was just praying it was non-toxic at that point.

But then, something worse happened.

Danni, in all her designer couture and high heels, had A Moment of Realization. 

Sansa saw it dawning on her undergrad roommate’s beautiful, hand-carved Grecian goddess face. The mesmerizing violent eyes widening, her perfect lips falling open, her Gucci bag vibrating with the need to have its contents spent personally saving Underdevelopped, Needy, Financially Underserved War Orphans.

—and that War Orphan’s name was Sansa.

“I’m going to help you get out of poor,” vowed Danni, seizing Sansa’s hands.

Bile rose in Sansa’s throat. Oh. Oh no.

“You don’t have to,” insisted Sansa, trying to pull away. “Really.”

“Don’t fight me on this, Sansa. I know you have your stupid noble pride about being independent and doing things on your own, and integrity, and all that frankly worthless bullshit,” said Danni, hand on her hip as she released Sansa. “And it’s admirable. When you have money. But you don’t,” said Danni, side-eyeing Sansa’s meagre cart. “Look, if you want a job, I’ll give you a job. You can, I don’t know, rank my shoes or something. Oh! I can be a personal shopper for you! And we’ll get you a new wardrobe, and I’ll teach you how to do a nice smoky eye, and—”

“Danni, that’s… I think that’s the opposite of a job, actually,” said Sansa weakly. “A job is like, I work for you, doing things for you, and then you give me money. Like how I used to bartend, and people would pay me for drinks,” said Sansa, pushing her cart closer to the cashier. Just a little bit further, two more people ahead of her, and she would be able to politely wave goodbye to her well-meaning, overbearing friend.    
And she used the term ‘friend’ loosely.

Danni could be more like a force of nature, raining indiscriminate benevolence and torment down on everyone in her path. 

“Right. I keep that mixed up,” admitted Danni. 

But then, worst of all, Danni’s eyes lit up with A Thought.

“I have the best idea ever!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Sansa wondered briefly if she could OD on Breakf’st Snack and Nuclear Toxic Snake Milk right there in the grocery line and die in dignity and poverty combined.

“Danni, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“No, no buts! I’m going to hire you to do a job at a place for me! For money!”

Suffering inside, Sansa took a fortifying breath. One person ahead of her in the queue. She’d been so close.

On the off-chance that it was better than panty shipping and toe fetish pics, Sansa smiled gratefully at Danni, who was genuinely, in her own way, trying to help.

“How can I help you?” asked Sansa, just as the cashier called for her to ring her purchase through.

“Just like you said,” assured Danni, deciding she just had to join Sansa in line now. She even pushed her cart forward. If there was something Danni could do better than anyone else, it was shop. “You can be a bartender for me! I’m hosting a fundraiser tomorrow night for a charity. We’re hiring bartenders. Everyone is going to be super loaded—not as loaded as me, obviously,” she laughed.

Sansa just stared at her.

“But you used to bartend, and I’ll just hire you to join the bartending team. Easy! And you’ll get so many tips. It’s really good money, from what the other people say.”

“The employees?” asked Sansa leadingly, as Danni tossed her cart items onto the conveyor belt, some of them bouncing and rolling down to the cashier.

But… that… actually wasn’t a bad idea.

Turning it over in her head, Sansa admitted to herself that it was actually a very good fit. And it was true, she used to bartend through her undergrad for extra pocket money. She really enjoyed the social side of it, and with the right bra and a V-neck, the tips had poured in on Friday and Saturday nights. 

This just might work. 

—In spite of it being work for Danni.

“Yes! Employees. That’s what they’re called. But I consider them more like family who do what I say,” said Danni with a perky shrug.

Right.

There was so much wrong with everything Danni had said, but Sansa restrained herself. Instead, she pasted on a smile. 

Because she really needed the money.

“Where do I sign up?” asked Sansa, as the cashier rang up the total. 

Sansa lifted her debit card, but Danni was already passing a fancy credit card over, waving Sansa’s away.

“Your money’s no good around me,” said Danni.

Then her card was rejected.

Danni frowned.

Blindsided, Sansa wondered what cosmic, karmic god was fucking with her already.

Then Danni’s phone rang.

“It’s the bank,” said Danni, smiling at the cashier. “Just a sec.”

Behind them, the other customers in line began to mumble and shuffle. Sansa’s social anxiety went through the roof.    
Wasn’t the Breakf’st Snack insult to injury enough?

Thankfully, Danni’s call was quick and she handed her card over to the cashier again.

“One more time,” said Danni with a smile. “Just had to sort out a misunderstanding.”

Sure enough, the card worked. The groceries were swiftly bagged and soon the women exited the grocery store, arm in arm (per Danni).

“Let’s get these over to your place, and then we’ll get some coffee!”

“Are you sure?” asked Sansa. If her card had been declined, she would have been too ashamed to suggest getting more.

They stopped in front of Danni’s Porsche, which was parked horizontally across a row of handicap parking spots at the front of the shop. Sansa tried to casually pull up her hood and avert her face.

“Hm, looks like there’s not enough room for the groceries in the trunk. You’ll need to hold them,” said Dani.

“I meant with your card,” hedged Sansa, trying to fit all the bags in her lap. She leaned her head away from the mangled carton of Breakf’st Snack. It was starting to emit a strange smell. Sansa started to feel woozy and see new colours. She tied the top of the bag.

“Oh, you mean with the card? It’s okay. The bank put a hold on it because they thought someone stole it,” laughed Danni, waving off Sansa’s concern. “They’d never seen me buy anything so cheap before.”

Clenching her teeth, Sansa took another deep, calming breath.

* * *

At coffee, which lasted most of the afternoon, Danni pulled her tablet out and handled some e-mail. As they talked, Danni passed the tablet and a special pen to Sansa.

“What charity is this for, again?” asked Sansa as she looked at the tablet, her brows furrowed.

“The one to support economic development in underserved communities,” said Danni. 

“And this?”

“This is the contract for the work! You just need to sign here so we confirm how many people will be working, and to make sure you’re on the list of people who can get in.”

“Do you need security?” asked Sansa, picking up the pen. 

Most of the contract was obscured because Danni had scrolled to the bottom of the page, straight to the signature line. Sansa started to scroll, but gave up when it went on for pages. She jumped back down to the bottom of the document again.

“Oh, totally,” said Danni, taking a drink of her skinny mocha latte. “You would not believe how many riffraff may try to sneak in if we don’t make it clear there are standards. It’s not like just anyone can come to these events.”

_ It was like she just… didn’t hear herself, sometimes. _

Taking a fortifying break, Sansa held her tongue and signed. She would review it later when Danni forwarded it to her.

“You’re done? Eeeee! I’m so excited!” squealed Danni. “We’re going to have such a good time tomorrow night. And you’ll already know almost everybody! Oh, it’s probably easier if you arrive early, around 5pm. That’s when the rest of the staff are coming. It’ll be easier to find parking.”

“I don’t have a car. I’ll just take a bus,” said Sansa.

Danni blinked at her.

“You don’t have a… Wait, I know what a bus is. A bus… I don’t think buses come to my house… You mean a charter, like a limousine bus?” Danni nodded her head side to side, considering. “Yeah, I think that would fit in the driveway.”

A vein throbbed in Sansa’s forehead.

Forcing a smile, she said, “I’ll just get a cab.”

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Saturday Night and the Air is Getting Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party starts and there's a surprise dress code.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onward!  
> —remind me to edit this later.

Dressed in a fitted, sparkly black tank top and her most supportive push-up, snug black leggins and her usual worn tennis shoes, Sansa arrived at Danni’s family mansion the next evening around 5:30pm. Already catering trucks, decorators, and staffing vehicles lined the driveway, blocking it off. 

The cab driver looked back at Sansa. 

“It may take a while for me to get through that mess. Do you want to walk?” he asked.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Sansa, handing him cash.

With a nod and a wave, the cab left Sansa at the bottom of the two kilometre-long driveway.

With her trench coat over her arm and her bag slung over her shoulder, Sansa trudged up the brick road.

“Just think of the tips,” she reminded herself under her breath. 

When she got to the top of the drive, sweaty and flushed, she looked around for a housekeeper or someone who looked like they were In Charge.

“You!” called a nasally voice.

Sansa looked around. She was the only person without a job.

“You, with the red hair.”

Yep, definitely her.

Smiling, Sansa approached the very attractive, if rude, man.   
“Hi, my name is Sansa Stark. I’m here to bart—”

“Carry this in, it’s going to the staff entrance at the back,” said the In Charge man, heaving a heavy box into Sansa’s arms. “And hurry. That’s raw meat, it can’t stay out for long.”

Sansa stared at him.

“I’m not—”

“Just go,” said the man, hurrying off to bully someone else.

Sansa looked around.

“What the f…” 

Unsure what else to do, Sansa carried the hunk of meat to the back of the house and dumped it in the kitchen. Hopefully someone else would know what to do with it.

At least she was inside now.

Exiting the bustling kitchen and stepping into the tall, wide corridor with its floor to ceiling windows, Sansa always forgot how big Danni’s house was. As Sansa followed the other staff into the ‘hosting’ section of that wing, she saw the scaffolding set up, the heavy, plush velvet drapes hung around one side of the ballroom, closing part of it off to provide the staff a place to freely walk once the event started, sound systems wired up and sound checks in progress.

A few bartending counters had been set up, and Sansa assumed she would be working at one of them. She poked around a bit, checking to see if there was space for her to put her coat down.

“Sansa?”

Hearing her name, Sansa poked her head up. She smiled as she recognized Theon Greyjoy. 

“Hi Theon, I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Theon reached an arm around Sansa’s shoulders, giving her a friendly squeeze.

“I could say the same. I thought you were still studying? Business, was it?”

“Political science and economics,” said Sansa. “I defend in another two years and a bit.”

Theon shook his head, impressed.

“Well, we always knew you were the sharpest one.”

“Hardly,” said Sansa, though her cheeks were flushed. “I’m actually working tonight. I met up with Danni yesterday, and here I am!”

Something flickered in Theon’s eyes, but it passed too quickly for Sansa to catch. From the far side of the room, someone called for Theon and he raised a hand, nodding to them.

“I… I didn’t know you’d be working this event,” he said carefully. “I need to go, but if you need help, or a hand, just let me know tonight. All right?”

He squeezed her shoulder, looking her straight in the eyes.

Her reddish brows furrowing, Sansa just smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s just bartending. I’ll be behind the counter all night.”

Theon nodded slowly, his eyes flicking to the alcohol carts and back to Sansa.

“Right. Have a good time,” he said, jogging away as another voice called for him.

Well, that was strange, thought Sansa. She wandered away from the main ballroom to find a bathroom. She needed to wash her face and put on her makeup.

* * *

At 7pm, Sansa met up with the other bartenders by the stage. They were all pretty young women, and Sansa smiled at everyone. Actually, everyone besides her looked like a model. It was a relief to work on an all-women team, and she looked forward to it, but she was suddenly very glad she’d spent a bit of extra effort on her makeup.

“Alright,” said the lead caterer. “I’m told you’re all experienced, so that’s a relief!”

The small group laughed good-naturedly.

“You’ll find that the drink menu is listed at each of your stations, with prices. Every two hours or so we’ll send someone to relieve you so you get a 15-minute break. If you haven’t been relieved by your fourth hour, let me know. But do not ever leave your station unattended,” said the caterer sternly, eyeing each one of them firmly. “Send someone to get me.”

Everyone nodded.

“I have a uniform for each of you. As you know, this is a special event and it has a particular dress code. You can get changed in the area behind the curtains. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Is security going to be posted by us and our stations?” asked Sansa. She was used to working at rowdy university bars where she knew everyone on staff.

The caterer looked at her.

“Security will be circulating,” he said evasively. “But we really won’t need it. These are all very rich guests, not your usual NASCAR trailer trash. Everything’s going to be fine, the security are just here for show. And we shouldn’t imply that we need them, right?” he added, looking directly at Sansa.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Sansa caved to the peer pressure and nodded.

With that, they received their uniforms and went to change.

***

The change area, it turned out, was quite open. Men and women walked through it, the windows had no curtains, and when Sansa opened the bag with her uniform, she wondered if she had missed a second bag. Each bag had been labelled with their name, however.

“You okay?” asked a woman beside Sansa, taking off her top.

Swallowing, Sansa shook her head. 

“I thought something was missing,” she said, her voice hoarse as she looked around. All the women were removing their clothes, putting on the black spandex booty shorts, thigh-highs, and lace masquerade masks. And nothing else.

The woman nodded. Then her dove gray eyes widened and she leaned in closer to Sansa.

“Did you… not know?” she asked conspiratorially. “You can still leave. It’s okay. They only charge no-shows $100, and it’s not for everyone. I get it.”

Charged?   
She would be charged if she left instead of working?

Sansa felt faint.

“Do we have to…” Sansa swallowed and pointed to her top, up and down.

“Yes. It’s why they pay us so much. The tips are worth it, if you’re worried,” said the woman, putting on her stilettos. She looked down at Sansa’s chest. “To be honest, you’ll probably be getting the best tips, with those,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “The rest of us are jealous already!”

Sansa nodded, pressing her lips together.

“I’ll be right out,” said Sansa as the other woman got up to leave.

“I’ll see you out there!” said the woman, smiling warmly at Sansa. “You’ll do great, don’t worry about it!”

As soon as she was gone, Sansa whipped out her phone and called Danni.

“Of course it is!” said Danni, as if it should have been obvious when Sansa asked if she’d known. “But you work. You sell your body all the time for money, when you work at a bar or at university, teaching. Why is this any different?”

“Because I don’t teach naked, Danni,” said Sansa, trying not to scream. She looked around her. She was the last one left to get changed. Already that didn’t look good. She would get last choice of the bar carts. Dammit. “Do I have to take my top off?” she asked. “I’ll wear the shorts and thigh-highs, but I’m really not comfortable with being… top-off,” said Sansa. “I mean, would you do it?”

“Of course I wouldn’t, I don’t work,” said Danni, as if Sansa’s suggestion were preposterous. “Okay, how about I talk to the coordinator and you work with a bra on, is that enough? They may cut your wages a bit, since it goes against the contract, but you won’t be completely naked. Or, I can bring something down for you to wear?”

Sansa considered her options.   
“What do you have?”

“I’ll be right there. I think I have something that will work,” said Danni. “And I’ll talk to the coordinator.”

“Thank you,” said Sansa, relieved.

What Danni brought was not better.

“It’s a bustier!” said Danni.

“Barely,” said Sansa, internally freaking out. She did not want to know why Danni had fetish-wear. She really didn’t. She really should have just sold her panties and toe-pics.

Upon seeing the barely-there bandeau of lace and lacing on Danni’s hanger, Sansa lost feeling in her legs. She slumped down on the change bench. This was a nightmare. This night was going to end up costing her money. She would have to do it. Tomorrow, she would have to suck it up and call her mother. 

“It’s very supportive,” assured Danni, clearly not reading the room. “The way the corsetting in the back and sides works, it helps reinforce the lace.”

Sansa was pale beneath her lace facemask.

“No one is going to care,” continued Danni, oblivious. “And what other options do you have? Are you going to walk out and abandon me? After I got you this job?”

The noise in the room thinned to a high-pitched hum in Sansa’s ears.

These were her options, Danni was right. Did she think she was better than the women already out on the floor? Of course not. Would this affect her schoolwork? Unlikely. How many of her friends had relied on sugar daddies or sex work to pay bills, and had still gone on to professional careers? Plenty.

The only damage that may result from that night would be her reputation. But could she deal with her mother insulting her, saying she always knew Sansa would need more money, more help, that she was just too stubborn for her own good? 

Did she want to rely on her mother, or on her self, ultimately?

Herself.

No, decided Sansa. She did not want to rely on her family’s connections and money. It was one night. At least she got to wear the mask. 

“No,” said Sansa, taking a deep breath. She took the ‘bustier’.

“I’ll be right out,” said Sansa.

She turned her back on Danni, reaching down to pull off her top.  
  
“Attagirl!” said Danni. “I’ll see you out there!”

As she expected, Sansa received the cold shoulder from some of the other girls when she finally made it out onto the floor, wearing the ‘bustier’. She sighed when she saw the others had left her the bar counter that was directly in front of a mammoth speaker. There went her hope for a good spot.

Well, this was her lot for the night. 

Deaf with her tits on parade.

Straightening her back, Sansa flipped through the bar menu, memorizing it. Time to work it.

… she nearly pissed herself when the music suddenly blared through the speaker behind her, rattling the rum bottles.

Perfect.

* * *

Handing his phone off to Samwell, his second in command, Jon kept his arms out at his side as the tailor finished his adjustments. At his feet, another assistant polished his shoes.

“You wouldn’t be in such a rush if you would have just put down your wrench,” said Sam, pocketing Jon’s phone.

Jon looked at Samwell but knew better than to complain. Sam was right.

“The replacement starter came in,” said Jon instead, lifting his chin as a third assistant snugged the Windsor knot in place. Crisp, clean, simple and silk. The assistant folded a square of matching print and tucked it in Jon’s breast pocket.

Missions complete the assistants stepped back and formed a line, allowing Jon to descend from the step stool and see himself in the full-length mirror. He did a quarter-turn in each direction, checking for loose ends, but in truth, he knew they wouldn’t let him leave without everything in order. 

People in his employ had died for less, after all.

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Sam looked at the clock.

“Well, we’re ready to be fashionably late. I’ve put ten in your wallet.”

Ten thousand, a nice round number.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Jon, finally allowing himself a smile at his oldest friend. He accepted the wallet from Sam and they left together in the limousine waiting for them outside. Half a dozen of his associates followed behind, in black town cars.

* * *

It was very soon after the guests arrived that Sansa realized just how much she had missed bartending. 

By that, she meant not at all, as she was swiftly reminded why she had quit.

“If I give you a tip, will you flash me your tits?” asked an overconfident man, far from the first that night.

Sansa leaned forward, arching her back.

And whispered, sensually, “No. But I can get you a drink.”

With a smirk, the man left money on the counter, along with his business card. “Maybe later.”

Thankfully, he walked away, but Sansa knew it was going to be a long night. 

Her position left much to be desired, but her unique attire and red hair had attracted plenty of curious attention—and plenty more offers.

Pocketing the money, Sansa straightened and looked around. The other bartenders all had long lineups. She… did not.

She was more and more tempted to remove the bustier, if only to blend in. From what she’d seen of the other bar counters, none of the patrons paid any attention to the women’s masked faces. They were fully focused on their breasts, which would shake every time a mixed drink was ordered (many were). But still. She held back.

“Now why would a lovely young woman not want to put her best foot forward,” asked a voice from beside Sansa. 

Startled, Sansa turned. She hadn’t heard anyone come up beside her (damn speaker). A man just a little taller than she stood there, watching her with a knowing gaze. She narrowed her eyes; there was something familiar about him.

It was then that recognition flashed across his face.

“Are you Catelyn’s daughter? Sansa?” he asked, stepping closer.

Taking a half-step back, Sansa shook her head. “No.”

The man laughed and Sansa’s back tingled in primordial fear. 

Outwardly unaware of Sansa’s reaction, he held out his hand. “I’m an old friend of your mother’s. My name is Petyr. It’s astounding how much you resemble your mother, in her... youth,” remarked Petyr appreciatively. “I can’t imagine what you must have told her to get her to let you work here, like this,” he added.

More alarm bells went off in Sansa’s head. 

“Are you working all night?” he asked, stepping closer. He leaned to the side, resting his arm on the bar counter, her workspace.

Sansa swallowed, glancing behind Petyr to see if the security was anywhere nearby. There was no one.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Sansa, reaching for a glass.

Petyr smiled at her, sending another shiver down Sansa’s spine. There was something off about this man. He said he knew her mother, but was it true?

To her surprise, he nodded and answered her question. “Yes. Sex on the beach.”

Ugh. Of course he ordered something with innuendo. Well, at least it was more interesting than a screwdriver.

With a nod, Sansa made it, layering the alcohols quickly and expertly. She debated making it terrible but knew she’d get even less business if someone saw him walking away from her station with a shitty drink.

Yes, the theme of her night was a master class in “damned if you do, damned if you don’t”.

“Enjoy,” said Sansa, setting the drink on the far side of the counter for him.

The man eyed the fanciful glass before turning back to Sansa. He set a $100 bill on the counter, eyeing her more hungrily than the drink.

“Keep the change,” he said, turning away with his drink in hand.

Stunned, Sansa pocketed the money. Then wiped her hands thoroughly.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come...


	3. Like You Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon arrives at the party. Danni impersonates Velcro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're still reading? Kudos!

“Jon!” exclaimed Danni, nearly shattering his eardrums. 

In her sparkling violet gown, Danni moved to throw her arms around Jon as he arrived at the party, but he extended his hand swiftly and pivoted, neatly catching her hand to shake it. 

“Danni,” he greeted, ignoring Sam’s snicker behind him.

“I didn’t know if you were going to make it,” said Danni, snuggling up to Jon’s side and taking his arm. “I’m so excited!”

“It’s for a good cause,” said Jon, scanning the room for anyone, literally anyone, else. 

For the last several years Danni had been trying to cozy up to him and further their relationship beyond business. While it may have been a fun distraction, Jon had noticed the way Danni tended to railroad her way through things and people. He actively avoided her in most circles they shared, but it seemed he was off his game that night.

“Care to get me a drink?” teased Danni, tugging his arm toward a dark corner, where there was no drink cart.

“Jon actually promised to see a friend first, but he is sure to find you right after, Miss Targaryen,” interrupted Sam. “In the meantime, would you mind explaining to me a bit more about the charity tonight?...”

With a grateful look at Sam behind Danni’s back, Jon politely availed himself of some freedom—he did not flee—to disappear in the crowd.

With a soft exhale, Jon made his way to the nearest empty drink cart. Danni’s antics were going to exhaust him that night.

“Whisky, three fingers, neat,” he said, not looking at the young woman manning the bartending booth. He was used to these functions but made a point never to get to know the women working them. It would be too personal if they ever met again for other ‘business’. 

He lifted his wallet, wondering if Sam had added anything smaller than a grand when he heard the bartender’s swift intake of breath as she set down the tumbler of Glenfiddich. Glancing up and around him instinctively, Jon found no threat and turned back to the bartender.

His brow furrowed. Unlike the others, she was… more dressed. Surprised, he finally studied her face and froze.

Her mask hid nothing from him. He would recognize her face anywhere.

“Sansa?” he asked, thunderstruck.

“Jon.” Her voice brushed a whisper of awareness against his well-protected core.

Instinctively his hands reached to the buttons of his dinner jacket, to undo it and offer it to her. He looked around again, his eyes wide. Why was Sansa here? Why was she wearing such revealing clothing? Was she—

He swallowed tightly, anger flooding him. His fingers froze on his buttons and curled into callused fists instead. She was supposed to be safe. He had made sure she would be safe. Had someone betrayed him, smuggling her in like the other trafficked girls—

Maybe there was still time. He reached for her instead, grasping her wrist.

“I’ll get you out of here,” he said, leaning down to speak closer to her ear. He was far too close to her, closer than he should ever be, but seeing her so exposed had shaken something fundamental in him. “Come with me,” he said, starting to walk away.

To his surprise, she dug in her heels, shaking her head vehemently.

“No!”

“What?”

His voice came out angrier than he meant, and he saw her flinch.

“I’m working,” she said, glancing away. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, rounding her shoulders. “It’s okay.”

There was absolutely nothing okay about the current circumstances, and Jon doubted Sansa understood the very real danger she was in.

“Sansa,” he said. He gentled his tone but heard the tension in it in spite of that. “You need to leave.”

“I can’t, Jon. I have to pay them back if I leave early. They’re already cutting my pay because I’m not… following the dress code.”

“I will pay you double whatever they promised, and I’ll pay them for what they were going to charge you for leaving,” he said, trying to reason with her. He tightened his hold on her wrist.

“No,” said Sansa, digging in her heels. “Would you like another drink?”

“What?”

“Would you like another drink?” She leaned in closer. “People are staring,” she said quietly.

And they were.

They were attracting attention and some couples had their heads together, speaking in hushed tones. 

“Do you know what this is,” he asked her harshly, leaning in closer. “And pour me something complicated, whatever will take time.” He released Sansa’s wrist.

With a curt nod, Sansa began mashing basil, though slowly.

“A charity auction,” said Sansa, as if it were obvious. 

Fuck, she even believed it.

“Do you know what they’re auctioning?” he asked evenly.

“Art? Antiques?”

“At the beginning,” said Jon. He planted his hands on his hips. “And after?”

She stilled.

“After?” she asked suspiciously.

Pressing his lips together to hold in his anger, Jon took a few deep breaths. She had no idea.

“When do you finish work?” he asked instead.

“I have to work a minimum of four hours,” said Sansa. “After that, it’s up to me.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. Because there was a distinct meaning to the ‘up to the contractor’ portion of that part of the contract, and what was expected of them after their first ‘job’ was complete.

“When?” he repeated, glancing around. 

People were still staring. Right, he hadn’t paid for his first drink yet, he realized, and now she was making him another. He pulled out his wallet and threw a bill on the counter, ignoring the denomination.

Sansa’s eyes shot open.

“Jon, for god’s sake, pay attention,” said Sansa. She shoved it back at him. “That’s a thousand dollars.”

“Keep it,” said Jon, completely serious.

“Where the hell am I going to be able to use a thousand dollar bill?” scoffed Sansa. “The campus commons for my morning muffin?”

“When,” he demanded a third time, holding her crystal blue gaze.

There was a pause as Sansa shrugged. 

“Midnight,” she said. 

Jon nodded.

“Do not leave with anyone but me,” he said seriously. “Do not leave this room without telling me. Promise me.”

“You’re overreacting,” said Sansa, adding ice to a highball glass and slowly pouring a shot over it.

“Half the girls working this room are sex workers, and the other half are being trafficked. Whatever you were told before this event was a lie, and if you want to get out of here before being sold into either of those fine professions and disappearing, you will listen to me, Sansa Stark,” growled Jon, his voice low and more serious than it had ever been with her.

Even after so many years, she brought out so much in him.

But finally, it seemed like his words had gotten through to Sansa. Her hand pouring the next shot over the glass wavered, and she swallowed minutely.

“Promise me,” he said. “That you’ll wait for me. I’ll get you home safely.”

And he would make sure that she was never, ever conned into this situation again.

Sansa muddled the drink and slid it across the counter into his hands, carefully. When she could have released the glass, she held on a moment longer. His hand closed around hers, squeezing it gently.

“Please,” he begged, lifting his gaze from their hands to her eyes.

After a heartbeat, she nodded.

Some of the tension in Jon’s heart relaxed as he released Sansa’s fingers enough for her to pull away again. The heat of her hand lingered on his palm.

“I’ll check in with you through the night. If I can’t, Sam will,” said Jon, tossing another bill down. “Don’t push it away, people will notice and ask questions,” he said casually. “Hold onto it for now.”

“I’m giving it back at the end of the night,” argued Sansa, tucking the other thousand dollar bill in her apron.

“Sure,” sighed Jon, scanning the room for Sam.

He glanced down at the drink. “What’s in that, anyway.”

Sansa’s lips twisted in a smirk.

“You’ll find out.”

Playing along, Jon picked up both drinks with a light roll of his head. 

“See you soon,” he promised.

Sansa nodded, giving him a small, private smile.

As he walked away in search of Sam, he told himself it was enough.

With his next breath, he told himself he was enough.

* * *

If Sansa thought her night had already met its shit quota, she was sorely underwhelmed when the next visitor showed up at her booth.

She really was beginning to wish she had just called her mother and asked for a grand. Nothing was worth this much grief.

“Here to try and win me back, San?” drawled an overconfident, bleached blond asshole.   
She meant every word of that literally.

“No,” said Sansa definitively, unable to keep the irritation from leaking into her tone like battery acid.

Joffrey scoffed, smirking at her.

“I’ll take one of everything,” he said, leaning imperiously over her counter.

“You can’t drink that much,” sighed Sansa. “I used to hold your bangs back, I remember it unfortunately well.”

His eyes narrowing, Joffrey’s hands tightened on the edge of the bar.

“I remember what you used to do, too, San. Whenever I asked for it,” said Joffrey. “Now make me a damn drink, and do it nicely, or you’ll have to look for your payment in my trouser pockets, on your knees, in front of everyone.”

With meditative calm, well practised from when she was engaged to him, Sansa poured the egg white, grenadine, half and half and gin into her iced cocktail shaker. With precise movements, she shook it well before draining it into a cocktail glass and garnishing it smartly with a cherry.

“What the hell’s that,” demanded Joffrey, backing away with affront.

“A pink lady,” said Sansa, poised. “It suits you.”

Joffrey’s lips pulled back from his teeth with an ugly snarl.

Sansa lifted her chin, unafraid.

She knew what he could do. Did do.

And when she’d thrown him out, she had promised never to lower her head to him again.

“Get out from behind that bar and kneel,” he seethed.

“You need to pay for the drink,” said Sansa, folding her hands in front of her.

“Now,” ordered Joffrey, his shoulders rising, his fists shaking with anger.

“Your payment, please,” said Sansa, not moving.

“I said, get your ass out from behind that—”

A heavy, scarred hand slammed down on the counter, startling Joffrey away from Sansa and making Sansa pale with fright.

“Gimme a beer,” demanded Sandor Clegane, looming over Sansa.

Never faster, Sansa offered up two types to Sandor, her hands steady and swift. He nodded at the one on the left. Flipping off the cap, Sansa offered him the chilled bottle with the most perfect manners her mother had ever taught her.

“Thanks,” said Sandor, thumping a wad of bills on the counter. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” breathed Sansa, trying not to stare at his scarred face. With trembling hands, she tucked the funds away in her apron. She prayed they didn’t have blood on them.

She’d heard the rumours of how he’d become disfigured, but who knew what was true. She just knew that he had a dangerous reputation and to stay out of his way and away from his notice. He was the type of man who did not belong at such functions, and she wondered at his presence. It harkened back to what Jon had told her, only an hour before, and she realized he was probably there on… business.

To her shock, Sandor, also known as the Hound, turned to Joffrey next. His feral stare bore into the spoiled brat’s face.

“What are you looking at?” scoffed Joffrey, feigning indifference. 

But Sansa could see the fluttering of his pulse beneath the girlishly pale skin of his throat. He was terrified.

“Did you pay?” asked the Hound, staring at Joffrey.

“What,” asked Joffrey, confused.

“Did you pay the lady!” shouted the Hound, his rough voice and accent quickly catching the attention of those around them. Heads turned.

Mindful now that they were being watched, Joffrey threw money at the counter, deliberately missing it and sending the money floating to the floor. He turned and walked away, but not until he’d shot a murderous look at Sansa.

With a timid swallow, Sansa stepped out to collect the fallen money. Beside her, the Hound was still there, watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

Only once she returned behind the bar did he grunt and walk away.

Sansa’s hands shook, and it took her two tries to put the money back into her apron. There were people nearby, but no one had come to help her, she realized.

No one.

Scanning the crowd, Sansa tried to pick out Jon, but he was nowhere to be found. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Sam, melting into a small group, and not far from him, walking in the opposite direction, the Hound.

Her brow furrowed, Sansa watched them a moment. It could mean anything, of course. But something told her there was a distinct connection.

Alone behind the bar, Sansa’s knees were weak with a mixture of fear and confusion and she took a seat on the stool provided to her. 

It was a bit ridiculous how much drama had happened already, but that’s what meetings with Danni always entailed, didn’t they? Sansa shook her head. Yes, she remembered well why she had taken to avoiding Danni. It was just too much, and it was never worth it, and the fallout never seemed to rain on Danni herself, did it?

Glancing at the clock on her phone, Sansa’s heart sank. She genuinely wished she could leave, taking Jon up on his offer, but he wasn’t there and she still had another three hours to go. Admitting to herself that she was more relieved than ever that Jon had found her that night, Sansa pulled her shoulders back and set about wiping down her counter, rinsing her glassware, and updating the till with the amount due for each drink, making sure it matched her receipts.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder that this story is complete crack...


	4. I'll make you mine, you know I'll take you to the top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hail our inebriated hero!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Meet Jaime and Brienne.

At his table in the bidding section of the ballroom, hiding his amused smirk behind his Black Sunday, Jaime watched his ‘nephew’ scurry away from his encounter with his ex at the bar table.

“Little shit,” chuckled Jaime with fond amusement. 

Good on Red for sticking it to him. And he may need to give Clegane a subtle pat on the back later. He’d been wanting to kick Joffrey in the balls for ages. The way Sandor had glared at him, Joffrey’s balls had probably retracted right up inside his ribs. Well, if they were lucky...

Jaime shook his head and returned to paying somewhat attention to the auction. He lifted his paddle for fun, unsure exactly what he was bidding on, before scanning the room again. Plenty to see. That redheaded ex of Joffrey’s was endlessly entertaining that night. Barely any business at all, and yet she’d had nearly every criminal present show up for a taste. Quite the feat. Moreso, that demon cousin of hers had looked ready to light the entire ballroom ablaze to try and remove her earlier.

It had been ages since he’d this much fun, and he wasn’t even doing anything. He should do nothing more often. Maybe. Maybe not. Then he wouldn’t do anything.

Taking a sip of his drink from one hand and lifting his paddle again with the other to keep up the bidding charade, Jaime smiled and nodded at a few people he knew.

—until he met one pair of eyes that immediately darted away from his when they crashed together.

Unconsciously Jaime sat up a bit straighter, his smile widening.

He knew those eyes.

It looked like it was time for him to do something.

* * *

Brienne swallowed a groan as Jaime Lannister swaggered over to her otherwise empty table. 

“You’ve been drinking,” she said tiredly.

Jaime made a production of looking around the table with all its empty seats, in spite of it being in an excellent, highly visible position. “You’ve been talking and making friends.”

Pressing her lips together while the back of her neck flushed, Brienne scowled at Jaime. 

Sitting with her was social suicide, she knew, but trust him to point it out. She was too direct, too honest, too ‘wholesome’. Her integrity had built her father’s business into an empire, but it had incurred the disdain of many other businesses for its strict adherence to not only the letter but the intention of the laws it worked with. It was far too demanding for most other companies to engage in business with Tarth Industries, regardless of the benefits. Brienne not only talked the talk, but she also walked the walk, when most others would prefer to coast.

And here was the master scooter himself, the oil that greased all wheels, Jaime Lannister.

“Can we try the small talk thing?” asked Jaime, genuinely curious. “I know we usually go straight to the fight, but it’s good to try new things.”

From her seat at the table, Brienne arched a brow, wondering what Jaime was aiming for. He’d sought her out repeatedly, even as she had tried to avoid him. Actively. Moved seats to get away from him at times, or shouted at him in public that he was a menace and miscreant.

He smiled at her.

Shifting awkwardly in her seat, Brienne considered it.

What harm could he really do? If worse came to worst, she could just get up and leave, as she usually did.

Her shoulders slumping, Brienne nodded to the seat across from her.

Jaime, instead, chose the seat beside her.

“You’ve been drinking a lot,” she said, pulling away and revising her earlier determination. He reeked of alcohol. 

“Cheers,” grinned Jaime, chiming his glass with hers on the table.

He frowned.

He chimed them again, leaning his head in closer this time, listening.

“Are you drinking water?” he asked.

He turned his bloodshot eyes to hers, aghast.

“How can you tell by the sound?” demanded Brienne, snapping at him angrily.

“At least get a beer,” said Jaime, appalled. “And pretend to drink.”

“I don’t need a—wait, give me my glass back—Jaime Lannister, you bring that back now!”

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. “Watch my drink.”

“No. I have a better idea, don’t come back,” said Brienne, shaking her head. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath.

It was a stupid idea, coming to this auction. A complete waste of a ridiculous amount of money on a dress and hair and now pointless knickknacks. The person she’d wanted to meet had cancelled and she was stuck there until it was fashionably respectful to hike it out of there.

Oh god, now Jaime was talking to that lovely red-haired young woman at the bar and pointing at her. 

Brienne turned in her seat so that her back faced them, then slowly lifted her hand up to casually cover her face and pretend that she didn’t know Jaime.

* * *

“I can’t serve you, sir,” said Sansa, deadpan. “You are clearly not sober.”

“Sure you can, you have a whole row of bottles right there,” said Jaime Lannister. His words were not the least bit slurred, and his gait was confident and firm, but she remembered seeing him with six differently shaped glasses within the past half hour, and knew, for a fact, that he was not sober. It did not matter how prettily he smiled at her, she was not serving him.

“It’s not for me, it’s for my friend, Brienne,” said Jaime. 

For effect, he turned and waved at Brienne.

Sansa watched, with second-hand embarrassment, as Brienne slowly turned her back on them, and sank down in her seat. She even lifted her hand up to hide her face. With her impressive height, it was doubly awkward.

Unimpressed, Sansa looked back at Jaime.

“May I offer you a glass of ice water?”

Jaime sighed and hung his head. 

* * *

When Jaime returned to Brienne, he set a glass of ice water down in front of her.

“One sober cocktail, courtesy of Sansa Stark, the county fun jailer,” said Jaime, sagging into the seat beside her again. “Cheers,” he said morosely as he lifted his glass.

But, to his surprise, Brienne sat up and looked at him for the first time—ever—with interest.

“Stark?” she asked.

“Yes, Catelyn’s daughter. You know Catelyn, correct? She took over from her husband at the forestry board, before she went into politics. Very successful. You’d like her, she has no fun, like you,” said Jaime. “I thought I left my drink here…”

“I haven’t met her personally,” said Brienne, looking back at Sansa with fresh eyes. Of course, that telltale hair. She would have made the connection earlier if it hadn’t been for, well, her attire (or lack of it). “I came tonight to meet Catelyn. Unfortunately, she cancelled. And I’m stuck wearing this godawful dress and talking with you.”

Reaching down for her water, Brienne shook her head.

“What are you talking about? It’s not a godawful dress,” said Jaime. 

He spotted his glass behind Brienne’s elbow and leaned in close, watching the play of her expression on her lips. “You could have done much worse,” he said intimately.    
He snagged his drink, winking at her.

Taking a long, steady drink of her water, Brienne looked at Jaime levelly over the rim of her glass, unphased.

“I know. I’m looking at him,” she agreed.

Dejected, Jaime sank back in his chair.

“You enjoy being unkind to me,” he reflected, taking a drink of his Bloody Sunday.

Leaning her elbow on the table, Brienne nodded at him. She was sober and... amused?

“You make it easy,” she said warmly.

… But she did grin.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoy melodrama!


	5. I'll drive you crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa wants to be wearing less around Jon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Same)

Jon approached Sansa’s cart an hour or so later, a bill already in hand.

“If that’s another grand, please find something smaller,” sighed Sansa, dread clear on her face. “I cannot stand here wearing three grand in my pocket, Jon. It’s uncomfortable.”

“What would you prefer to be wearing?” asked Jon, smiling at her. 

Sansa’s words dried up in her throat at his flirtatious tone and hot coffee eyes. Heat warmed her cheeks as she tried to figure out what to say.

“Less,” she said, stumbling over her words.

Then she flushed as Jon looked at her with surprise, then something… different.

That’s when she mentally replayed her own words and wanted to slam her head through the floor.

“That’s… I meant…”

The fond amusement in Jon’s eyes made Sansa’s stomach clench with want. It was so rare for him to be teasing.

“If that’s what you want, I’m happy to arrange it,” replied Jon, playing along.

“I meant something smaller,” said Sansa.

Then Jon made a show of mockingly inspecting her uniform up and down, and topped it off by winking at her.

“We can’t go much smaller, can we, without things becoming indiscrete.”

Unable to help herself, Sansa laughed out loud. It was the first time in days that she had laughed, and it was freeing.

“And I found something smaller,” assured Jon, handing over the 20 dollar bill. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Thank you. And I’m giving you change, to sort out the till right away,” said Sansa. “What can I get you?”

“Same as before,” said Jon.

“The whisky or the surprise?”

Jon’s lips twisted in a wry grin.

“I prefer my whisky,” he said, amused. 

The teasing in his voice made her wonder what else he preferred, and how.

Sorting out his change, Sansa poured the drink and slid it into his hand. She had to keep busy when he was there, or she would lose track of herself. It was hard when being with him was so distracting. They weren’t even doing anything other than talking, yet the connection between them always grew stronger with every little look, word, touch.

Jon caught the glass, and with it, Sansa’s breath.

Again, like before, Jon closed his hand around Sansa’s when the glass reached him. This time, though, his thumb stroked hers as he held her gaze with the force of his intent.

Inside, Sansa’s nerves came alive, sending interesting signals through her with every beat of her heart. This was wrong. Her reaction wasn’t supposed to happen. She and Jon were too close. They’d known each other too long. They’d grown up together like family. They led entirely different lives, and yet none of that mattered to the way her insides tightened, imagining his thumb stroking other, more interested parts of her body, parts that already warmed whenever he came near and she could smell his aftershave.

“Looks like we’re halfway there,” said Jon, stroking her again.

“Maybe more than halfway,” admittedly Sansa breathily, her lips forming a smile just for him.

She wanted him to keep touching her, keep holding her hand, but they were surrounded by people and could only speak for so long before someone would take notice.

“We can talk more when I take you home,” said Jon, reading something in Sansa’s eyes she wasn’t sure she could say aloud yet. “Remember to wait for me. It’s really important.”

“I will,” promised Sansa. “Though I could use a short break to go to the washroom. I think the other girls had theirs, but no one has come to relieve me yet.”

Jon’s brows furrowed. “Are they bullying you?”

Sansa sighed. She hadn’t considered that.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Because of the dress code. But don’t do anything,” she said, noting when his expression shifted, his eyebrows pulling together in concern. “I just need to get the other staff’s attention so someone can watch the station for me for two minutes.”

“I can stay and watch it,” offered Jon.

Sansa shook her head at him and instinctively turned her hand out so she could squeeze his fingers affectionately.

“You can’t walk me to the washroom and stay here. You can’t go into the ladies’ room at all,” pointed out Sansa. “It’s okay.”

But Jon shook his head, scanning the room around them. When he spotted someone specific, his eyes brightened. “I just found the perfect chaperone.”

With that, the warmth from Jon’s fingers disappeared, and so did he in the crowd, drink in hand. It was only for a few minutes, though, as he returned with several people in tow. To Sansa’s surprise, it was Jaime Lannister, and the extraordinarily tall, beautiful woman from before.

“Told you she was my friend,” said Jaime. He approached with swagger while the woman beside him rolled her eyes. “I also need a refill.”

“I understand you need company for a moment?” asked the tall woman. She offered her hand. “My name is Brienne of Tarth, from Tarth Industries.”

“A pleasure,” said Sansa, smiling widely. “I’m Sansa Stark, Catelyn and Ned Stark’s oldest daughter.”

“The pleasure is mine. Let’s take a short walk,” said Brienne, winking at Sansa.

“Thank you,” gushed Sansa gratefully. She looked at Jon over her shoulder. “You don’t mind—”

“Go,” said Jon.   
His tone was direct, but he tucked his hands in his pocket and shifted his weight here and there, back and forth, unbothered.

“Thanks,” she said, hurrying to the washroom with Brienne.

Watching them go, Jaime frowned.

“This wasn’t how I expected this to go,” he admitted, looking at his glass in consternation. “This definitely qualifies as a failure.”

Jon ignored him, scanning the room and sipping from his tumbler. It was very odd that the staff had not sent anyone to relieve Sansa, or check on her. Hm. 

His suspicions aroused, Jon waited for the women to return before setting out again. There was one other person he had been expecting to see, but who he had not run into yet. He doubted it was by coincidence.

No, at a party like this, that person would no doubt have made themselves very, very available to someone like Sansa.

“I’ll be back when I can,” said Jon, interrupting the chat between Sansa and Brienne.

“Halfway there,” said Sansa, smiling at Jon.

His intense focus softened as he looked at her. “Halfway there,” he repeated.

Shifting his drink to his other hand, Jon reached out to Brienne. “Thank you.”

“Of course, I’m happy to help,” said Brienne. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Sansa.”

“And you!”

With their farewells concluded, Jon went out in search of his prey. Jaime and Brienne returned to their table after Sansa refreshed Jaime’s drink with diluted orange juice.

“You’re right, I do like Sansa,” agreed Brienne, picking up her auction paddle and spinning it lazily in her hand. “She has a very mature, nuanced understanding of business ethics.”

“Another recruit for the fun police,” quipped Jaime into his orange juice.

Brienne ignored him.

* * *

A quarter of an hour later, after circling the ballroom twice, Jon spotted his quarry. His eyes narrowed. Of course, he would be speaking with that human garbage, Joffrey.  
  
Jon had a special place in his heart, for Joffrey.

Someday…

But for now, he turned left to duck around a group of talking socialites and approached from their blind spot. His blood pumped fast in his veins with his adrenaline rising. He was finally going to get him. He reached behind him, to the waistband of his trousers at the back, camouflaged by his coat, when he was suddenly grabbed.

It took everything in him not to murder his assailant right then and there in front of a room full of witnesses.

“Jon! Have you been hiding from me?” exclaimed Danni, yanking his on his arm and plastering herself to his side again. “I haven’t seen you in hours.”

Avoidance was not ‘hiding’. Hiding was cowardly. He was a master of concealment. It was different.

“No,” said Jon, tightly controlled. 

A muscle in Jon’s jaw ticked. Danni’s greeting had been extremely loud, garnering attention from everyone in a 10-foot radius. When he looked back at where his intended prey had been standing, both he and Joffrey had separated, going in opposite directions. Damn.  
  
“Have you met anyone this evening?” asked Danni, oblivious to the way she had scared off his prey.

“I was just about to,” said Jon honestly.

“Fantastic! I’m happy to make introductions,” said Danni, wriggling them both into the crowd of socialites Jon had been using for cover. “Everyone, this handsome devil is Jon Snow! Jon, this is…”

As Danni went into painful detail with the social grace of a flailing gazelle in orbit, Jon forced himself to remain outwardly calm. 

The delay was an inconvenience, but he would find them again.

For now, he had to figure out how to disentangle himself from Danni’s surprisingly strong grip. Had she laced her fingers with Gorilla Glue?

* * *

Brienne left Jaime at her table as she spotted one of her trading partners. They had been trying to connect for weeks, but meetings and travel had made decent conversation and progression impossible.

Finally, a decent opportunity had presented itself that night. It wouldn’t be a total wash. 

She caught their eye, saw the warm recognition in theirs and made her way through the crowd.

—until, just over their shoulder, she saw two men approaching Sansa, neither of whom was Jon.

Brienne’s face fell.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recognize the lyrics yet? You're a rockstar!


	6. Saturday night, dance, I like the way you move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duh duh duh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important addition to the fic in this chapter: Jon's abs

It was when Sansa had finally served several of the regular patrons—thankfully, far less dramatic transactions could be made that night, hallelujah—that she allowed herself to relax a bit and enjoy the lighter side of her job.

That was when he struck.

The lead caterer, accompanied by Petyr, approached Sansa together. Their expressions were unhappy, though Petyr’s was professionally supportive, with his compassionate snake eyes and false smile.

“Hi,” greeted Sansa uncertainly. She looked between them. “Is it break time?”

Her perfect posture straightened further as they stopped at her station. 

“Sansa dear,” said Petyr sympathetically. “We tried to be flexible to accommodate your needs. Unfortunately, we’ve had a number of complaints.”

“It’s the dress code,” said the caterer. “We understand that Danni herself made the adjustment and that it wasn’t entirely your decision.”

“But you must understand, that when a service is offered by a company, that service must be provided as stipulated in the contract,” said Petyr, his tone falsely sympathetic. “We won’t make you do it right here in front of everyone, of course. But you must adjust your uniform to match your colleagues. You’re in breach of contract with Little Fingers Services otherwise. Frankly, your profits have been the lowest all evening, and your breach of contract is why.”

“If you could go change out of your top,” said the caterer. “That’s all we ask.”

Two spots of anger heated Sansa’s cheeks but she stood her ground.

“I have been providing bartending services, as required by the contract. No one has complained about my drinks,” said Sansa. Someone would have told her by now if that was true. “My accommodation has neither impeded my ability to serve nor that of my colleagues, and it has not negatively affected the guests. Your argument is false.”

The caterer looked up at Petyr, who stared hungrily at Sansa.

“Let’s discuss this more privately,” said Petyr, stepping forward.

He grasped Sansa’s arm tightly, and Sansa glared at him.

“Let go of me,” she said darkly. “Now.”

Petyr’s eyes glittered with excitement.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said softly, leaning down so his lips stroked her ears in a sick mockery of a caress. “And I enjoy both.”

“Let go of me,” repeated Sansa, swallowing. She was about to assault a man. She really was. She lifted her left foot, with its four-inch stiletto heel, and prepared to rake it down his insole. Stilettos were the worst to run in, but hopefully tearing it down his foot would give her a head start. She would look for Jon, and he would protect her. 

Sansa would love to be the type of person who could fight her way out of a situation, but she was not. She had to plan, and strategize, and look for the help she needed in a case like this. Big picture? She was your expert. Planning, organizing, executing? Name it, she could wipe the floor with nearly anyone politically.

But physical intimidation and sexual harassment outside the law?

No. 

“Walk,” ordered Petyr. His voice ran down her skin like a steel blade covered in silk, tearing through her. 

His hands massaged her arms, and Sansa felt ill and frantic. He gazed into her eyes intently while she desperately tried to see behind him to find Jon. 

Sansa didn’t find Jon, but her eyes widened when she found someone else.

“Excuse me, sirs, is there a lineup for the drinks?” asked Brienne.    
Her smile was both warm and cold, as she looked between the caterer and Petyr. She handed her cup to Sansa.

“If you would be a love and refill my gin, please,” she said, pushing her way through the men.

It was just enough to separate Petyr from Sansa, freeing her.

Right away, Sansa scurried behind the bar cart again, her hands shaking as she reached for the alcohol. “Right away,” she croaked.

“Oh, take your time, there’s no rush,” said Brienne, leaning her hip against the counter that went to everyone else’s chest. “Have you been enjoying yourself this evening?” she asked, speaking to Sansa.

Frustration flickered across Petyr’s face.

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” began the caterer.   
“This is a conversation between employer and employee,” interrupted Petyr tightly. “Could you please excuse us?”

“I’m sure it can wait a minute until I’ve had my drink,” said Brienne. “I’m sorry, did I say gin? I meant rum and coke. It’s okay, I’ll pay for both,” she said apologetically. “Being around such fine men just makes me all quivery,” she went on, fluttering her eyelashes awkwardly at the caterer and Petyr. 

Sansa nearly laughed when the caterer immediately took two steps back, but Petyr glared openly at Brienne.

“Do you mock me,” demanded Petyr quietly, lips tight.

“No, I’m just helping myself to a drink,” said Brienne. “I’ll also need one for my… companion,” she said, the last word coming through clenched teeth and a false smile. “He’ll take anything that isn’t straight piss. Be creative. Lots of umbrellas and colours, that kind of thing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sansa dutifully, understanding exactly who Brienne’s ‘companion’ was. Had said companion been present, he would have been ecstatic at the way Brienne had referred to him that way, even if her inflection was barely an inch off derogatory.

Petyr’s angry breathing was audible by that time, and when Brienne smiled at him, then turned to Sansa and added, “Actually, could you make two or three? Thank you,”, he lost his temper.

“Stop!” he shouted at Sansa, turning to her angrily. “Stop and go behind the curtain immediately!”

“There’s no need for—” began Brienne, but Petyr stepped closer, jabbing his finger at her.

“If you so much as—”

It was as close as he got before Jon appeared. He smoothly stepped between Petyr and Brienne, deadly calm, a hand tucked inside his jacket. From inside Jon’s coat, his gun made a small metallic ‘click’ as he cocked it, just loud enough to be heard and understood between them.

“Something wrong, Littlefinger,” asked Jon evenly. “It’s rude to raise your voice to a lady as great as Brienne of Tarth.”

Petyr’s chest heaved as he glared furiously at Jon.

“This is not a guest concern,” interrupted the caterer nervously. “One of our employees has ignored the terms of their contract, and we are addressing it. I apologize for the inconvenience. May I offer you a complimentary—”

“What are the terms of the contract?” asked Jon, his eyes on Petyr.

Here, Petyr smirked.

“Drinks must be served by a topless bartender,” said Petyr smugly. 

“Is that all?” asked Jon.

Sansa looked between Jon and Petyr. Something was happening. She wasn’t sure what, but something was happening.

Petyr’s eyes narrowed at Jon in suspicion. A half-second of tension passed before he nodded. 

“Yes.”

“Then there’s no problem,” said Jon, his hand retreating from inside his coat to take it off.

—followed by his tie clip.

Sansa’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head and she became light-headed as Jon proceeded to untie his tie, pulling it through his collar and off before tossing it on the bar counter. Then he undid each button of his pressed shirt, starting at his cuffs before untucking it with three quick tugs—Sansa had to brace herself against the bar; how could such a simple movement be so unbearably sexy, it wasn’t fair—and undoing each button from top to—Sansa gripped the counter harder—bottom.

Completely unconcerned, Jon discarded the shirt next, leaving himself in his undershirt, which he reached down and pulled over his head. As it was the last piece, he added flair, making a minor production of spinning the soft cotton shirt lazily above his head before tossing it down, too.

From under the bar Jon riffled through several drawers before finding a spare bar apron. Then he planted his hands on the bar top and leaned over it, smirking at Petyr.

“Open for business,” said Jon.

Just beyond Jon’s shoulder, Brienne, meanwhile, looked meaningfully at Sansa, pointing at her jaw and making an ‘up’ sign with her fingers. And a wiping motion with her wrist. 

Her knees weak, it took Sansa a moment to break through her daze and catch on, snapping her mouth shut and wiping the edge of her lips. She tried to swallow, but any motion remotely related to clenching at that moment was a lost cause for Sansa’s panties, because where on god’s green earth had Jon acquired those abs? Were they surgically implanted? Could she check them with her lips and teeth to be sure?

“You’re staring,” mumbled the caterer.

Sansa nearly snapped that so was he, but then realized the caterer had been speaking to Petyr.

Huh. He was, wasn’t he?

“See something you like?” asked Jon.

He waited a moment before pushing the menu toward Petyr. His muscles rippled.    
(And then, Sansa needed a moment. She needed a moment desperately. She just really, really did.)

Then, in a way, she got it.

Jon’s stunt had gotten attention. It took only a few seconds before women began swarming their bar station, along with many men.

With a wide grin and a wink at Sansa, Brienne left money on the table and collected all her drinks, retreating to her table to find Jaime.

Sansa grinned, too, when Jon dismissed Petyr, saying, “If you’ll excuse us, we’re quite busy.” 

With so many people around, there was no way for Petyr to harass Sansa without repercussion.

In half an hour, they made as much as the other stations had, and as they closed in on midnight, they outdid them. Sansa made the drinks while Jon served and handled the money, quickly finding their rhythm working together. It was even more fun, being teamed with him and sharing banter back and forth. He bumped her with his hip when she cracked jokes, and her heart nearly exploded when he turned to reach around her, his naked abs pressing against her naked skin. Naked against naked… it…  _ Ngh _ ...

Her brain short-circuited.

Everything hard about him was real, she discovered, knees weak.  _ Everything. _

As their time together at the bar counted down, Sansa admitted to herself that she was going to miss being around Jon. Would he take her home that night, say goodbye, and leave? He always left, she thought to herself mournfully. She had wanted him to stay before, hadn’t she, and he’d left, telling her that she was better off without him.

He’d been her knight that night—so had Brienne. But with Jon, had it been purely kindness? She thought they had a connection but was it simply the drama of the entire ridiculous situation?

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she wondered wistfully if things would change at the end of the night. A very considerable part of her really hoped it didn’t.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I wrote this whole fic just to get Jon top-naked?  
> You're welcome.


	7. Pretty baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime to the rescue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a shout out for our gal Brienne? <3

At just before midnight, Sam popped by to collect Jon’s clothes and fill him in on a few things.

“I need you to get the car,” said Jon quietly to Sam while Sansa mixed another drink beside him. 

Sam glanced at Sansa.

Jon nodded, eyes fixed and hard.

“Anything else?” inquired Sam innocently.

Jon scanned the room. Littlefinger was missing, and so was Joffrey.

With a bad feeling gnawing at his gut, Jon held Sam’s gaze. 

“Be ready,” said Jon.

“Always.”

With the last drink served, Jon and Sansa cashed out, cleaning and closing down their bar. 

“Where are your things?” asked Jon as Sansa wiped down the countertop.

“Just behind the curtain,” said Sansa.

“Sansa? You’re leaving already?” 

A vein in Jon’s forehead throbbed at the high-pitched voice.

“And who are you… Jon? Oh my goodness, how long did I miss out on your show?” asked Danni appreciatively.

They were literally moments from escaping the circus, and the tiger jumped them. It wasn’t fair.

She moved to get closer to Jon, reaching out to touch his sculpted chest, when suddenly Jaime slammed into the bar, distracting her.

“Hi,” he groaned, trying to hold himself up. He was in terrible shape, and now, terrible pain. “Do you have anything left?” he asked. “I’ll finish up your empties.”

Stumbling to his feet, Jaime looked at Dani’s outstretched hand and Jon’s naked torso. He grinned lasciviously. “Are you hitting on the help, Danni? I could help you out if you’re in need.”

Blushing furiously, Danni squared off with Jaime, her lips pursed.

“I am not hitting on the help. He’s a friend, and you’re interrupting our conversation!”

From the sidelines, Jon saw Brienne tilting her head toward the employee exit and gesturing subtly with her thumb for them to go.

His spirits lifting, Jon caught on that Brienne and Jaime were creating a diversion so they could leave.

Without a word, Jon took Sansa’s hand in his and casually backed up, pulling Sansa with him behind the curtain while Jaime egged Danni on. A small group of people had clustered closer to hear the gossip.

“There are services for that kind of thing, you know,” continued Jaime loudly, and very drunkenly. “I have some great names. I could probably get you a discount—”

People began to giggle and laugh, and Danni stamped her foot.

“I don’t—I wasn’t—Would you stop—”

“Like, are you a size queen?” asked Jaime. He nodded to himself. “I bet you are. Like, girthy, right? You know what I mean?”

The people around them began howling with laughter, while Danni’s fists shook with rage.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

Behind the curtain, Sansa grabbed her things and changed her shoes as quickly as she could. She looked down at her top and debated switching back into her clothes, but Jon shook his head, reaching for her hand again.

“We need to get out of here before they notice us missing,” said Jon. He took her hand and tugged her to her feet.

Swallowing her sigh, Sansa nodded. He was right. 

There was a faint whistle from their right, and Jon tensed and stepped in front of Sansa. His shoulders relaxed as he saw Theon waving them over.

“Sam’s waiting for you in the car out back,” said Theon. He handed them each a bag of styrofoam containers. Delicious smells wafted out. “I got you some food. I know you haven’t eaten in hours,” he said, looking at Sansa sympathetically. “You’ve been here since this afternoon.” He looked at Jon apologetically. “No one has seen Littlefinger or Joffrey. They’re either hiding or waiting. This place is a mess for security. Keep your eyes open.”

“Thank you, Theon,” said Sansa, giving him a quick hug.

“See you later, be safe,” said Theon, hugging her bag. He nodded at Jon and stepped back, holding the door open for them. A few dozen yards away across the lawn, the taillights of Jon’s limousine glowed in the darkness, the engine running.

A shiver ran through Sansa and Jon as the cold night hair hit their skin, but they hurried as quickly as they could between the sculpted bushes and arbours that dotted the lawn. They were nearly at the limo when the sound of a gun cocking broke their stride. Jon immediately pulled Sansa to him, whipping out his gun from the rear holster and scanning the darkness.

“You’re free to leave, Jon Snow,” said Joffrey, stepping out from behind a tree to their right. In his hand, he pointed a matte black Gock at Sansa. “This isn’t about you.”

Goosebumps ran down Sansa’s arms. She’d known Joffrey was crazy. No one had ever believed her, though. When she called off their engagement, she’d lost friends and family. Her reputation had been dragged through the mud. But she’d finally been free of him. Or so she thought.

“Sansa is not a possession, Joffrey. She’s a person,” said Jon calmly. He glanced at the limo. “Where’s your little weasel partner?” he asked, still looking around. “We know you can’t do anything by yourself.”

A branch cracked behind them, and Jon threw himself and Sansa down on the cold, wet grass, covering her with his body. It was just in time, as another gun went off.

“Don’t shoot when they’re between us!” shouted Littlefinger at Joffrey. He pulled away from the tree he’d hidden behind. “You nearly hit me, you idiot.”

“Run,” whispered Jon in Sansa’s ear as he jumped up, pointing his weapon at Joffrey. “That’s our car, go!”

With all her trust in Jon, Sansa scrambled up and ran like a deer.

The moment she passed the last arbour on the lawn, she heard footsteps and turned to look. To her horror, a dozen more men in dark suits had surrounded Jon, Joffrey and Littlefinger.

“No,” she breathed, turning on her heel. She took a step back towards them. She couldn’t let Jon face them all alone!

A hand closed over her mouth while another gently took her wrist.

“It’s okay, it’s me, Sam,” whispered Sam. He stepped in front of Sansa and released Sansa’s mouth. When he saw she was calmer, he tugged her quietly toward the limo. The doors were open for them, light spilling out across the driveway. He grinned at her as she looked between him and Jon, the question clear in her eyes.

“Don’t worry, they’re on our side,” assured Sam.

Sansa looked back again, her heart in her throat. But… Sam was right. Everyone was pointing their guns at Joffrey or Petyr ‘Littlefinger’. She nearly collapsed in Sam’s arms with relief. 

“He’s going to be just fine,” said Sam. “As long as you get in the car where you’ll be safe. Otherwise, he’s going to skin me alive,” said Sam. He remained outside the car and helped Sansa climb inside.

Out on the lawn, the tides had reversed as Joffrey and Littlefinger turned on each other.

“I paid you two million dollars for her!” shouted Joffrey, pointing his gun openly at Littlefinger.   
“You think you’re the only one who wanted to mark her,” snapped Littlefinger. “Do you have any idea how many bids came in tonight when she came out? I told you, redheads are more expensive!”

Now safely in the car, Sansa looked at Sam in horror.

With a reluctant sigh, Sam nodded. As the men closed in on each other on the lawn, one turned away. He began walking toward the car as his men circled the pair of inept criminals.

“Good thing they’re so mad at each other they don’t realize how stupid they are,” remarked Sam as Jon jogged up to them. 

“You’ll handle things here?” asked Jon as he reached the limousine.

“Easy peasy,” said Sam. “If we’re lucky, they’ll off each other.”

Jon’s answering grin was amused and tired.

“Get outta here,” said Sam, shoving Jon into the car. “Go wash all that baby oil off. Don’t flex too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Further inside the car, Sansa burst out laughing.

“Ouch,” said Jon, though he was grinning.

“See you later,” said Sam, closing the limousine door and tapping the top. The driver nodded at the signal and set off.

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this is a Jonsa fic.  
> If I'm only going to write GoT fic once, I need to ram in my Jaienne while I can. Forgive me.


	8. It's party time and not one minute we can lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidebar while we check in with the rest of the cast!

The next morning, Jaime lay stretched out on the divan, a half-empty bottle of acetaminophen and a glass of water beside him on the end table. His left wrist was wrapped with a strong tensor bandage, a bag of frozen peas on top. He sighed as his sister, Cersei, paced through her bedroom berating him loudly. Far too loudly. He closed his eyes as the pounding in his head continued unabated.

“—for one thing, attacking the host is never wise, even if she isn’t the brightest lamp in the room,” lamented Cersei, gesturing angrily. “But then I hear that you spent the entire evening with that gigantic cow, Brienne of Tarth! What were you thinking? She has nothing to offer us. You could have spent the evening convincing that Targaryen slut of Joffrey’s fine qualities, so he could have made a move away from that useless Stark whore! But no, not you.”

“I apologize for my offences,” drawled Jaime insincerely. He laid his arm across his eyes, trying to darken the room. The torture went on.

Cersei stomped over to the divan, shoving him. His aching body too lax, it did little to Jaime, which only angered her more.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You need to start paying more attention to the right people,” spat Cersei, crossing her arms and turning away from Jaime in disgust.

At that, Jaime shifted his arm and opened his eye a sliver, watching his sister’s back intently. She was a beautiful woman. It would be a shame if someone were to stab here between the shoulder blades someday.

“That I do,” he agreed sincerely and closed his eyes again.

* * *

Reading the newspaper the next morning overhear breakfast of bacon, eggs, ham, salad, toast and apples, Brienne sighed. There had been trouble at the auction, as she’d expected. Nearly two dozen people were rushed to the hospital with food poisoning due to some meat that wasn’t properly refrigerated and spoiled. Something about it being left unattended on a counter. Gunshots were fired. She was surprised to hear that several people had even gone missing. She hadn’t thought it had gone that poorly, but what a shame for the organizer, who had been photographed rather unflatteringly yelling at Jaime. 

Jaime, meanwhile, looked completely at ease in the picture as he leaned against the bar counter. Though his arm was at an odd angle, now that Brienne looked at it closer...

Then she remembered how hard she’d thrown Jaime and the painful way he’d crashed into the bar cart when she had tried to create a distraction so Sansa and Jon could leave. 

Brienne bit her lip. Perhaps she had been a bit indelicate with Jaime’s person. But she’d heard the rumours about ‘Littlefinger’ and Jaime had been so slow to get up when she’d needed him, and really, it was his own fault for…

For…

Brienne poked at her breakfast. 

He hadn’t been all that company, for once, actually, if she admitted it to herself. 

She hoped she hadn’t actually broken his arm. It was a pretty bad fall…

Maybe she should, hm, send him flowers?

Wine was out of the question.

What did Jaime like?

The many answers, in all their different body shapes and petite sizing, came to mind and she groaned, her head in her hands. 

As she picked up the newspaper again to distract herself, Brienne felt her phone vibrate in her pocket.

Private Number flashed across the screen, and curious, she answered. 

“Hello, Brienne of Tarth speaking. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Miss Tarth? My name is Catelyn Stark,” came a mature, cultured voice over the phone. “I was wondering if you had a moment?”

Sitting straight up in her seat, Brienne flushed. Catelyn? Catelyn Stark was calling her? Catelyn Stark knew who she was?

“Of course,” said Brienne, feigning complete normalcy. “How can I help you?”

“I hope you don’t mind me being too forward, but I was wondering if you would have time this week for a working lunch? I’ll be in the area, and I heard that your timber division was looking to expand. I’ve heard very good things about your company’s dedication to integrity and was wondering if you’d be open to a possible partnership with Stark. We pride ourselves on our sustainability and environmental management programs. I think it would be a good fit. What do you think?”  
  
“I would make time to discuss it with you, Mrs. Stark,” said Brienne seriously. “Cooperation with Stark is something Tarth Industries has been hoping to pursue for some time.”  
  
“That’s a relief,” chuckled Catelyn through the phone. “And call me Catelyn.”

Absolutely glowing, Brienne swallowed. “Please call me Brienne, Catelyn. And may I add, your daughter, Sansa is a delight to speak with. You must be so proud of her.”

“She is,” agreed Catelyn. “Though she needs to learn the ways of the world a bit more. Her sister, Arya, she’s a quick one, too, but Sansa can be a bit too trusting. I wasn’t aware you’d met her. It’s good to hear she’s making friends with the right people.”

The phone at her ear, Brienne froze.

“I’ll check my calendar and send you a meeting invitation this afternoon for this week. I look forward to seeing you, Brienne,” continued Catelyn, unaware of the crisis occurring inside Brienne.

“I’ll see you this week, Catelyn,” said Brienne, smiling. Fear coursed through her veins.

They hung up. 

Brienne’s hand dropped to the table with a thud. Followed by her head.

How was it, just a day after meeting Sansa Stark, Catelyn Stark called her out of the blue to request a business meeting... but had no idea she had met her daughter?

If Sansa hadn’t mentioned anything to Catelyn, then who had?

* * *

Setting down her phone receiver, Catelyn flipped through her datebook, choosing a date, time and location for the luncheon with Brienne. She called the restaurant herself to make the reservation, then made a note to forward the details on after lunch.

Brienne. It was such a lovely name. 

She had sounded so vibrant on the phone. Catelyn smiled as she sipped her tea. She had heard of the Tarth reputation from her youth, but she had not realized how tirelessly Brienne had worked since becoming its CEO, to embody integrity and good business practice. And as a woman CEO, Catelyn was doubly impressed. It took a great deal of conviction to accomplish. 

Looking at the bouquet of iris that had arrived that morning, Catelyn was thoughtful.

Who would have thought that a tip from a Lannister of all people would be worth the paper card it was delivered on?

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FULL CIRCLE!  
> *insert flaming Elmo gif*
> 
> Also, I'll be back in a bit, I need to go write the ending. BRB.


	9. Be My Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that gives this fic its rating. If you're uncomfortable, please don't read.  
> Now that you're done laughing, please continue!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue the saxophones, it's time for champagne*

When Jon turned on the lights at his penthouse, it was the wee hours of the morning. He entered, kicking off his shoes by the door and held it open for Sansa. He set the takeout down on the padded leather bench, just inside. Behind him, Sansa followed, wrapped in his dinner jacket. He closed the door softly behind her.

“I’m going to go turn on the lights,” said Jon, picking up the food again. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” admitted Sansa.

Jon nodded with a gentle smile. “Come in.”

They ate on his couch, the food spread between them on the coffee table. They could have chosen the kitchen table, but somehow, the couch seemed more appropriate after the intensity of the evening. The conversation naturally focused on recapping the strange night together.

“I’m so glad you were there,” said Sansa. “Mom always says I’m too trusting, and I get it. I totally get it now, and I was stupid,” babbled Sansa, staring at her plate because she was unable to look at Jon in the face. “I can’t believe I didn’t read the whole contract through. I never should have signed it. If Danni hadn’t been the one to give it to me, I obviously would have read it, but I trusted her, and okay, maybe not my smartest move, because, like  _ Danni _ , but how was I supposed to know it would have gotten that out of hand?”

Her hands gestured wildly as her emotions bubbled up, the fear she’d felt all night overflowing into panic.

“I mean, I left all those other women there. Whether they were sex workers or not, no one should be sold, like a thing? Was Joffrey serious, when he told Petyr he paid for me? Was this a weird, convoluted scheme? Why would he do that? Petyr acted like he didn’t know who I even was at the beginning of the night, like he didn’t know how late I was working, or why I was there, and at the end of the night, I’m his business transaction? And what were you and he saying about… about the trafficking? Was that serious?”

Jon caught Sansa’s hand and then the other, and slowly brought them down to his lap. Catching Sansa’s eyes, he slowly, deeply inhaled. Then he slowly, deeply exhaled. And slowly, deeply he inhaled, and slowly, deeply exhaled. He kept going, until Sansa unconsciously followed his lead, inhaling and exhaling, slow and steady, until her fingers stopped trembling, and her stomach stopped roiling, and her words petered out to silence.

Once calmed, Jon looked down at their joined hands, tapping them on his leg a moment before he looked up at Sansa again.

“Why do you have a gun?” she asked softly.

“I run a few businesses,” said Jon. “Many, like the financial firm, the real estate, the shipping industries, are perfectly legitimate. But they aren’t all legal.”

Sansa swallowed. Her fingers in his, she trembled again.

“You are safe with me. No matter what,” said Jon. “I promise you, Sansa.”

Sansa pressed her lips together and nodded.

“But what about the illegal business?” she asked very, very quietly. “Is that safe?”

Of course she would ask. After all she’d been through that evening, he owed her an explanation, too. He had owed her an explanation for years.

Jon ran his tongue over his lips before he answered.

“When I became involved in it, years ago, I left,” he began. “I was at the bottom of the pecking order. I stayed away from you and the rest of the family, then, because I had no standing, no rank, nothing to offer anyone related to me any protection. I couldn’t risk any of it coming back on those closest to me,” he said. He looked into her eyes. “Like you. Especially you,” he admitted.

He stroked her fingers, considering his next words.

“Over time, that changed. I work in many less-legal industries now and I kept the legal ones. But no human trafficking,” he said immediately, his tone firm. “I’ve made it very clear that that is not tolerated.”

Sansa tilted her head. 

“What is?” she asked calmly.

A muscle in Jon’s cheek twitched. 

“We run several brothels. We accept women who apply for work but do not go out and recruit them. We ship cars; sometimes without their original papers.”

“Is that all?”

Jon bit in the inside of his cheek.

“No,” he admitted.

Sansa’s brow lifted in challenge.

“Drugs. Guns. Smuggling. They’re fair game. There are also those who require protection, which we provide for a fee,” said Jon.

“Kidnapping?” 

“No.”

“Rape?”

“Never,” vowed Jon. “We don’t prey upon the vulnerable.”

“How magnanimous of you,” said Sansa evenly.

That stung.   


Jon sighed, admitting to himself that it was true after all, and Sansa had a point. But he wasn’t changing. If he was anyone other than who he was, things that night would have gone very differently. Tremendously, horrifically differently.

“We also partner with certain government agencies when they require… special information that they would otherwise struggle to obtain through the usual channels.”

Sansa stared at him.

Something from earlier in the evening clicked in her head.

“You were there to get Littlefinger, tonight,” she realized aloud.

“He’s a tricky one to nail down. Many people have been looking for him for a long, long time,” admitted Jon. He looked down at their entwined fingers again for a moment. Then he caught her gaze again. “Plus this time it was personal.”

Sansa ducked her head. Her cheeks warmed when he stroked her knuckles.

“You’re still not wearing a shirt,” mumbled Sansa, avoiding his eyes.

Jon smirked.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, his voice husky.

Sansa’s eyes widened.

“Also, not to judge, but neither are you,” he teased.

With a quick glance down, Sansa flushed as red as her hair.

“I look like I shopped at Hookers R Us,” she muttered. “I’m still wearing your jacket and everything.”

“Keep it. I like it,” said Jon. “On you.”

The warmth from her body seeped into his as he pulled Sansa closer. 

“Have I told you how much I enjoyed watching you walk in front of me, in my jacket and your thigh highs?” he asked softly.

“No,” whispered Sansa.

“Are you okay if I tell you?” he whispered, focusing on her lips. Gods, he wanted her lips on his. How many times had he fantasized about her lips, what she would tell him, when she would kiss him, when she would trail those lips down his throat—?

“You just did.”

Jon smiled, resting his forehead against hers as he reached up to cradle her cheek.

“May I show you?”

Sansa’s fingers clutched his thigh, and he barely held himself back.

And then her exhale ghosted over his lips like a saint, blessing him with her consent,

_ “Yes.” _

* * *

"Yes" became Jon’s favourite word that night. 

He fucking loved it especially when Sansa cried it out as she tensed and trembled against him, her nails sunk into his shoulders, her head thrown back as he worshipped the salty skin of her throat and he moaned her name, branding himself inside her.   


* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... was it as good for you as it was for me?  
> You're welcome.


	10. Personal Business, or it sucks to be you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you all forgot about the rent!  
> So did I!

On Sunday evening, Sansa returned to her apartment smiling and sated in a way she had never been in her life. After a far too brief, intense, earth-shattering goodbye up against the door of her apartment, Sansa sighed, kissing Jon goodbye for the night. She had to prepare for her week and classes, with everything, hopefully, back to normal.

Her knees went weak as she remembered the only good thing to come out of the last few days. And what a wonderfully satisfying thing it was. As she entered her kitchen, her passion-blissed eyes zeroed in on the calendar she had re-affixed to the wall.

Shit.

After everything that had happened that weekend, she had nearly forgotten the motivation that had started the crazy ball rolling.

Biting her lip, Sansa pulled open her bag. She was sure she had stuffed her apron in it at some point, hadn’t she? She remembered running across the grass, Jon carrying the bag, and yes, in the limo, she had passed her apron to him and—

With a heavily relieved sigh, Sansa pulled out her apron… and Jon’s?

Somehow Jon’s apron had gotten mixed up with hers in her bag. Sansa smiled, remembering how well they had worked together. Well, did everything together, really.    
(And she meant  _ everything _ .)

The money spilled out, bills floating and piling across the table as she shook out the aprons, double-checking them before setting them aside to count up the total.

There was the pair of thousand-dollar bills from Jon, which she immediately set aside with a fond smile. She would have to figure out how to give them back. As she counted up the rest, however, her eyes widened and she paled.

Excluding Jon’s money, more than four and a half thousand dollars was on her scratched, second-hand kitchen table. Sansa suddenly felt like an extra from “Hustlers”.

She also found several phone numbers written in various shades of lipstick and threw them in the recycling. Hmph.

But then she looked at the pile of money and her smile grew. She didn’t have to worry about getting a new roommate for at least three months. What a relief.

_ Thank you so much, _ she typed on her phone. _ I can’t wait to see you again. You up for coffee this week? My treat! _

She hit Send and smiled when Jon texted her back right away.

_ Absolutely. _

* * *

Sam knocked on Jon’s office door.

“The Feds were wondering if we have any leads on Littlefinger. They haven’t been able to find hide or hair of him since last night at the auction.”

Smiling softly as he looked up from his phone, Jon nodded. Not everything went his way, but that weekend had been… incredible. 

Relaxed, Jon leaned back, thinking. 

“Let them know we’re still looking and we’ll be in touch.”

Sam nodded and went to make the call.

Setting his phone on his desk in the warehouse’s office, Jon took a long, deep, cleansing breath. 

Then he undid the buttons of his shirtsleeves and walked out to join the rest of his men.

They’d been waiting very patiently for him, as he had personal business to attend to. Now that that was well in hand, it was time for the second part of his personal business.

That personal business sat bound and gagged in front of him, his hands and legs secured to the broken waiting room chair with electrical tape, his pants soaked with piss and his eyes red, pleading. 

He began struggling as Jon stopped in front of him, his shouts muffled.

The tape held. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re a popular man, Littlefinger,” said Jon, rolling up his sleeves. “Everyone’s looking for you.”

With his sleeves neatly pinned, Jon picked up a crowbar from atop a nearby crate. Then he turned back to Littlefinger and smiled.

“But we’re the only ones who know where you are.”

* * *

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satisfying? Y/N? Lemme know.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Special Bonus!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But wait, what about Joffrey, you ask?

Dragging the angry young man from the back of the van, the Hound dumped him unceremoniously on the dirty floor. The young man was wrapped in a dirty rug, immobilized. His head cracked as it bounced off the concrete, his shout of pain echoing around the empty room. Blood soon began to pool. At least it shut up his foul mouth and empty threats. 

The Hound’s boxing gym was closed that day, for ‘unexpected’ repairs. In the recesses of the industrial area of town, only the toughest thugs and criminals dared apply for membership.

Unimpressed with Joffrey’s crying, Arya looked up from her list with disdain. Then, very deliberately, she stroked out his name from a list on her clipboard. She hopped down from the faded edge of the boxing ring, setting aside her clipboard for the time being.

“Thanks,” she said, looking up at Sandor. 

He nodded at Arya, patting her head affectionately.

Then he rolled out a tray of many, many very, very sharp little knives. Some shone in the low light, while others were caked with rust.

With the patience of an angel, Arya examined the assembled tools before choosing one with excellent balance to start.  
  
Then she knelt down beside Joffrey and dragged his head up by his hair. 

Arya’s eyes were cold.

“Nobody fucks with my family.”

* * *

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I bet you all thought Sandor was working for Jon!  
> Nope.  
> Everyone's favourite murder gremlin gets revenge here! Hurray!  
> ******  
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this foray into GoT, and please go tell woodswit HAPPY BIRTHDAY! <3  
> (Hang a left at the trees and leave a comment if you please.)

**Author's Note:**

> Please go wish woodswit a happy birthday!!! <3


End file.
